


Hockey Magic Bullshit

by WeagleRock



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, Hockey Gods, M/M, Pagan Gods, Stanley Cup, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-07-27 09:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeagleRock/pseuds/WeagleRock
Summary: The hockey gods might be real. Or maybe they're bullshit.





	Hockey Magic Bullshit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badteeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badteeth/gifts).



> Hi, staples! It was a pleasure to write for you!
> 
> Some mild warnings in the end notes, which also contain spoilers.

' _Congrats on the Cup_ ,' read a text message from Gretzky. ' _Now listen to the Keeper, eh?_ '  
  
' _thx!! can't wait for u send signed stick u promise!!!!))))_ ' Alex texted back. He scrolled through a few more messages out of the hundreds lighting up his phone. Congratulations from friends and family back in Russia, thumbs up and trophy emojis from former teammates, a weird text from Orpik that said ' _!!!Staying Safe With Sir Stanley's Cup!!!'_  followed by a link that no doubt led to either a RickRoll or a dick pic.

“You get this weird thing from Batya?” Alex yelled at Zhenya over the music.

“Everything's weird when it's from Batya!”

“What's weird? Your face?” Dima asked.

“No, Batya's!”

“He better be if he's friends with you!” Dima seemed to think that made sense. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times. “It's some list of rules from the trustees. You know, of the Cup. Canadian hockey magic bullshit.”

“It's not all bullshit,” Zhenya said. “The part about gods might be real.”

“Yeah, and this says if you celly like a hawk, they'll smite your dick off.”

“Good thing I only ever celly like a pigeon.” Zhenya flapped his arms.

Dima squinted at his screen. “Bad news for our crops, also.”

“Whose crops?” Alex asked.

“I dunno. Everybody's?”

Alex might've tried to learn more about the fate awaiting their crops, but Tiesto chose that moment to drop the beat. Nicky and Burkie screamed unintelligible Swedish to his right, Zhenya and Dima bellowed even less coherent Russian to his left, and yeah—Alex didn't need to worry about hockey magic bullshit right now. He didn't need to think about anything but being here, in Vegas, with his teammates. He didn't need to do anything but jump to the music and hug anybody who danced within reach. “We won the Cup!” he shouted to anyone, everyone. “We fucking won the fucking Cup!”

“Where'd that thing go, anyway?” Zhenya asked.

Alex's heart raced for his throat—

“Wooooo!” Osh emerged from the crowd with the Cup held at chest-level. “I don't know about you, babes, but I'm fucking _parched_.”

Alex sagged against—oh, Nicky, who gave his ass a pat as he helped him upright. Dima fished a few Stellas from the ice buckets circling the VIP area and poured them into the Cup's bowl. He and Osh lifted the Cup for Alex, who drank deep, only to double over laughing when they sloshed him.

“Whoops, sorry O.” Osh shrugged, which tipped the Cup, which sent more beer splashing.

Alex waved at the now-wet floor. “Think that's how you're supposed to do it. Some for me, some pour out for hockey gods, yeah?”

“No.” Nicky shook his head. “I mean, it's on your pants, mostly.” 

“What? You try say my dick's not like some god?”

Nicky's gaze flicked downward. His mouth curled—

“That dick's a champion,” Carly said. “Show some respect, Nick.”

Alex doubled over again, this time from Carly's ball tap.

“Fuck, yeah! Nicke's turn!” Burkie meant a toast, not a ball tap, since he grabbed the Cup and swung it toward Nicky's face. Alex recovered in time to take hold and help steer the thing before Nicky finished his night with four fewer teeth.

“Wooo!” Nicky grinned despite the near-miss. Droplets trailed through the ginger-blond scruff on his chin, down his neck, into his shirt collar. Alex traced their path with his eyes. He wanted to add his hands and possibly his tongue to the mix, but they were in a nightclub with a thousand other people. And sure, Alex doubted Nicky was gonna pull his normal springtime ritual of blaming Alex for everything and fucking off to sulk all summer in Sweden, but winning the Cup together didn't mean they were definitely gonna—

Holy shit they'd won the Cup together.

Alex couldn't resist. He raised the Cup overhead and heard the club roar. Holding it felt unbelievable. The oldest trophy in North American sports: it could transform whole cities, make everybody who saw it happy, inspire everyone it touched …

Nicky's fingers brushed Alex's hip.

“Vee look thirsty. You agree Vee's like thirsty, yeah?” Zhenya didn't wait for an answer before taking the Cup from Alex and bounding toward Vrana, who was dancing offstage in an Orpik jersey. Dima shrugged, grabbed a bottle of champagne, and jogged after Zhenya. Alex watched the Cup bob above the parting crowd, a shining beacon. Thirteen years, he'd fought for the Cup, heard everybody say the Caps could never win with him as their captain, list all the things he was always doing wrong. That was done now. Over with. _They'd fucking won._

Nicky leaned against Alex. “Winning looks good with you.”

Nicky looked good with it, too. Nicky looked good with lots of things.

“Wanna get outta here?” Alex asked.

For a second, Alex thought Nicky was gonna say no, sorry, maybe next time all our dreams come true. But then his palm slid, flat and deliberate, across Alex's sacrum. “Your room or mine?”

Alex grinned at Nicky. Nicky's answering smile sparkled like champagne.

It was, Alex thought, fucking good to be the champions. 

#

Afterward, Alex stumbled into Nicky's hotel bathroom and brushed his teeth with a complimentary toothbrush. He filled a plastic cup with water and carried it to Nicky's nightstand. He tried to perch on the side of the bed, but he tripped and half-fell instead. The mattress bounced. Nicky bounced with it.

“Mrph.” Nicky's protest wasn't a word in any language.

“Whoa, Bäcky. Now I gonna think all romance dead in our hockey marriage.”

Nicky gave Alex the finger. He'd never loved the jokes about them being married. At least, not like Alex did, along with every coach they'd ever shared and most of the North American hockey media. Nicky wasn't much for marriage in general. Alex had never understood that. If you knew you were gonna love someone forever, why not put that on paper, throw a party, make promises? But it also wasn't something he needed to understand about Nicky. Their hockey relationship was serious. The sex was ... seasonal. 

Alex rubbed Nicky's hip. “Hey, gotta go. My mom gonna look for me in the morning even if our team too hungover for that.” 

“Keep drinking, no hangovers.” Nicky mumbled into his pillow.

“Burkie probably look for you too, but only because you never teach kid manners.”

Nicky twitched under Alex's hand. He rolled onto his back, twisting his t-shirt up under his armpits in the process. They'd gotten his pants off at some point, but fuck if Alex could piece together that timeline. “Get down here,” Nicky said.

They kissed, more sweet than dirty. Nicky's hands skimmed Alex's shoulders, then curled over the back of his neck. He brought their foreheads together. “Tonight …” Nicky huffed a laugh. “I hoped we'd still do it someday. But I didn't, the way it felt, you know …”

Alex did know, and he didn't have words for it either. “Glad it's you there with me.”

“Me too.” Nicky said it easily, like he didn't even have to think about it. “D.C. The whole city. It's gonna be—”

“Yeah.” Alex squeezed Nicky's thigh. “It's gonna be fun.”

#

“Legend has it that the hockey gods forged the Cup in the holy fires of Volcano Mountain,” The Keeper of the Cup said on the team's flight back to D.C. “They bestowed it upon Lord Stanley as a thank you for his loyalty, dedication, and—” 

“Steaks!” Whip shouted.

“That's right.” The Keeper—otherwise known as the guy appointed by the trustees to follow the Cup around and keep it safe—responded with the patient air of someone who'd heard that same interruption at countless school assemblies. “The hockey gods liked the steaks from a prize bull named Pickles, whom Lord Stanley smoked in sacrifice. They decided to get him something special.”

“Do we have to buy a bull?” Burkie asked.

“It's probably better if you don't,” said the Keeper.

“Should we sacrifice instead the baked potato?” Zhenya spoke in apparent earnestness.

“With sour cream?” That was Vee.

“Sour cream very important, obviously. But what happens if no sour cream, no bacon bit? The gods ever throw people in their volcano?”

“It would be kind of awesome if they did,” Whip said. 

“It probably would be.” At least the Keeper sounded amused, not offended. “But the hockey gods aren't like that. They don't kill people. They don't abduct mortals to their home in the clouds above Mount Logan. They haven't punished anyone for decades, and even then, they only cursed them with a Cup drought—”

“No!” Burkie's yelp contained pure horror.

“Well, that's why you should take this seriously. The Cup belongs to the hockey gods. It's their symbol, and it should be respected as such.” The Keeper paused. “But don't worry too much, eh? The hockey gods told Sir Stanley to give their Cup to the winning team each year. They want you to have fun with it. You can drink out of it, kiss it, put your baby in it. Pretty much anything you can do at a party's …”

The whole plane cheered.

“What about spooning the Cup?” Holts snickered after the noise died down.

“Perfectly safe,” The Keeper said, even as Zhenya burst into high-pitched giggles.

Alex ignored his teammates and snuggled the Cup tighter. He'd stretched across three seats for a nap. Recovery, you know, being the most important part of anything.

“I sent everyone the list from the trustees last night,” Batya said, “from their website. The one with the dos and don'ts.”

“That's a good start. I'll email a few extras that we haven't posted there yet. A professor in Toronto has done some interesting work on what might anger the gods in terms of social media, and there's this new list of auspices and portents …”

“What's that?” Vee asked.

“Signs you're losing the gods' favor. We thought that might be more practical than the pre-existing list, which focuses more on behavior and potential consequences—”

“ _Crops._ ” Dima laughed.

The Keeper didn't miss a beat. “Look for any changes in your houseplants, strange behaviors in your pets or the people around you, if you're blacking out or losing time …”

The team cheered again.

The Keeper kept talking, but Alex only caught pieces. As captain, he should probably pay attention in case Holts decided it would be more fun to get Burkie and Vee into trouble than keep them out of it. But he also wasn't too worried about divine hockey wrath. The Caps couldn't possibly treat the Cup worse than the 1940 Rangers team, who'd both set it on fire and pissed out the flames. And okay, fine, the trustees swore the hockey gods had cursed them for that … but the Caps weren't gonna punt the Cup over a canal, throw it out a window, or leave it on the side of some road, either. All those things had happened. Nobody had really suffered in consequence.   

The Cup deserved better, to be honest. 

Alex hugged the Cup closer. 'Don't worry,' he thought. 'I promise you'll have such a good time with us, you're gonna forget all about hitting the bottom of that pool.'

#

 _Click_. “That's a good one, I think.” _Click. Click._

Alex opened his eyes and saw Nicky brandishing an iPhone in his direction. He rubbed sleep from his eyelids. He was still on the plane, the Cup still nestled in his arms. Most of his teammates were drinking, napping, or listening to headphones. Burkie, of course, was wrestling Whip and Vee halfway into the aisle.

 _Click_. _Click_. _Click_. 

“You know,” Alex told Nicky, “you can turn that sound off, you wanna be sneaky taking pictures.”

Nicky raised his eyebrows. “I'm tweeting this, actually. I'm telling D.C. we're coming in hot.”

“Yeah? How hot?” Alex shifted the Cup to his side. He blinked when Nicky's gaze gravitated toward his stomach, where Alex's shirt had ridden up, and then again when Nicky smiled like the cat that ate Canary Islands. Nicky looking at Alex like that. Around teammates. _In June_ …

“Move.” Nicky tapped Alex's ankle.

Alex lifted his legs so Nicky could sit, then laid them across Nicky's lap. Nicky stroked Alex's shin with his good hand—the one without a broken finger the size of a balloon. Alex wondered what the gods said about having sex in front of their trophy. It had to have happened a time or fifty. He wondered if he could have that sex with Nicky. The night before had been fun, but it could've been a one-time exception to their usual pattern. Namely, falling into bed in mid-October (seemingly by accident) and falling out again in early March (definitely on purpose). That was Nicky's doing, mostly. Not that Alex didn't go along with it. 

“They told fans not to come to the airport,” Nicky said, after a moment.

“We make sure everybody see Cup later.” Alex yawned. “Think that on this god list someplace? Make more traffic at airport, get hit by lightning?”

Nicky's hand stilled. “I don't care what's on that list, actually.”

Alex didn't either.

“It's bullshit.”

“Yeah.”

“No hockey god helped us win.”

Alex sighed. Nicky could be like a dog with a bone sometimes. “Nope. For me, I think it's, uh, rain gods, one hundred percent. Or sex gods. Or … is there eagle gods?” Alex didn't know all the kinds of gods, but he thought they were like greeting cards or graphic tees: one for every occasion.

“Those didn't help us, either.” Nicky frowned.

“No shit.” Alex poked Nicky's thigh with his toes. “You want my opinion? List is just way to get everybody behave how league wants. Scarier if you say hockey gods gonna come down from frozen pond in sky, smite your ass, than talking heads gonna bitch few days.”

“With you, they could bitch for years, I think.” Nicky looked around like he was checking for eavesdroppers. It would've been a smarter move three minutes ago. “Even if … if gods helped. I wouldn't, uh. Give credit. You know, thank them.”

“Sounds rude. You're rude, Bäcky.”

“It's saying you owe them. If you believe it, they could too.” Nicky's cheeks went pink, a rare thing with him. “Gods, they don't give something for nothing. If any kind of gods made the Cup for Sir Stanley, it wasn't in thanks. They wanted something.”

“Like what?” Alex couldn't imagine it being anything bad.

Nicky shrugged, but he wasn't fooling Alex. Nicky believed in the hockey gods. Maybe not as immortal Canadians who created thunder when they crashed against the boards in the sky, but enough to feel uncomfortable with the team's jokes. That was fine. Alex only wished Nicky had said something earlier.

Alex touched the Cup. It vibrated beneath his fingers. That wasn't the hockey gods, though, so much as jet engines. “Bäcky, don't worry. I know exactly who help us win.” He pushed his toes harder into Nicky's leg. “You and me. We did it, babe.”

“You and me, babe.” Nicky smiled, brilliant at first, and then more sheepish. He flicked Alex's foot. “Hey, I'm, uh. I'm getting up again. You want anything?”

“We have beer left, that's fine.”

“We do. But, uh, don't pour it out for anybody. The way the rookies are going, the rest of us might be in danger of coming in sober.”

# 

“Ovi, you're hogging the Cup.”

Alex paused mid-pour. It had been whole minutes since anyone drank from Sir Stanley's trophy, and Alex needed to right that cosmic wrong. It was his duty. You know. As captain. “What?” 

“The Cup. You're hogging it.” Batya crossed his arms. 

“No way. I never.” Alex finished pouring the beer. The Cup could hold twelve or fourteen bottles. Which meant Alex had more to … he could fit more. He grabbed another bottle. The Caps had gone to Don Tito's in Clarendon. Alex had taken the Cup behind the bar. Nicky had laughed like a maniac as he sprayed the crowd with seltzer. Now, everybody was happy, smiling, dancing. The night was fucking young. The Caps were fucking champions. Alex could fit at least three more beers.

Batya rolled his eyes. “Nick, throw me a bone. Would you call Ovi a Cup-hog right now?”

“ _N_ _öff-nöff_.” Nicky sniffed when Alex and Batya met him with blank stares. “Pigs don't say  _oink_.” 

“Ah, Swedish pig noises.” Batya nodded. “See? He agrees. You're hogging it.”

“My A's. My teammates I most trust. Now see if I buy you next round vodka shots.” Alex swiped condensation from the Cup's rim. He liked touching the Cup. That wasn't a crime. He liked seeing his teammates touch it also. “Come on, Bäcky. You want me give the Cup to someone else, least you can do is help me get all this beer out first.”

They did Cupstands. They did vodka shots. 

“Kuzy's on the roof, I think,” Nicky said, long after the whole bar had warmed and blurred. He hefted the Cup over his shoulder and went up the stairs, giving Alex a good look at his ass bunching in his shorts. Alex wanted him. Nicky. Also, nachos, which were more of a sure thing this time of year. He headed toward the bar.

On the way, he passed Whip, who'd cornered the Keeper for some reason. “I've always wanted to ask: you guys make the tales more PC? Like for kids? In Juniors, you hear these stories. Like hockey gods turning into moose to seduce people. Or the penalty god using poutine to trick a prairie girl into marrying him so she has to stay in the sinbin all winter. Those aren't on your website.”

“The gods are good Canadian boys! They'd never turn into moose!” 

“Ovi! Ovi!” Burkie waved from the other side of the bar. “We found tequila!” He and Djooser had nachos, too. Alex pumped a fist and bounced on over. 

Later, much later, Alex found himself standing on the bar with Cup. He raised it. The whole place cheered. He raised it again and again. When he first lifted it in Vegas, he'd been surprised by its weight. Now, the Cup seemed to grow lighter in his hands.  

“Weren't you gonna share that more?” A smiling Nicky propped his elbows on the bar.

“What can I say? I like the Cup. Think the Cup likes me.”

Alex set the Cup aside and hopped down. His hop was more like an awkward slide. By the time he righted himself, Nicky's face had gone … strange. That wasn't from Alex almost falling. A normal Nicky would've laughed at that. A happy one would've grabbed Alex's ass as he helped him down.

“What's this?” Alex asked. “More god stuff? You gonna tell me gods want something?” 

Nicky looked at the Cup. Alex saw it shine, reflected, in his pupils. He looked back at Alex. “I'm gonna tell you they're not the only ones who do.” 

#

Alex woke up with hair in his mouth. Hard, crispy hair. He spat it out, sat up, and found Nicky asleep in his bed. A quick glance at the clock on his nightstand told him it was 5 a.m.

He yawned. His mouth felt like a dead animal. An ache in his temple threatened to deepen and throb. Alex scratched the back of his neck and discovered hair just as crunchy as Nicky's. Oh, yeah. They'd gotten back on the team bus, at some point, after Nicky's flirting at the bar. The boys had started spraying beer and champagne on said bus. That would explain Alex feeling like he'd been encased in yeasty shellac. He reached for Nicky and felt one thick, sticky shoulder. Gross. Nicky was gross. Alex's whole bed was gross now.

The Cup sat at the foot of the bed.

“Nicky,” Alex said, “I think we kidnap the Cup.”

Nicky snuffled into the pillows and stretched, kicking Alex's calf. He whistled through his nose every few breaths. Alex didn't remember Nicky making noise like that. Then again, it had been a very long time since they'd spent all night together. Five years. Maybe six.

The Cup gleamed.

Alex watched it glitter. It seemed kinda lonely all the way down there, but Alex wasn't drunk enough to think he could move a 35-pound trophy without disturbing Nicky. “Hi, Cup,” he whispered.

Nicky rolled toward Alex. One of his arms fell across Alex's chest. 

“Sorry,” Alex told the Cup. “Nicky, you know, he's boss.”

“Don't talk to it. You'll give it ideas.” Nicky mumbled.

“Dunno. Ideas I give should be good ones.” Alex would've worked his fingers through Nicky's hair, but the beer and champagne had left it impenetrable. He settled for drawing invisible eights on Nicky's arm instead. “Hope Keeper's not worried Cup get kidnapped. I don't think we ask permission.”

“Maybe it followed you home.”

Alex snorted.

“It's easy to do. If you don't … if you're not careful.”

“What, follow me home? It can't be that easy. This first time in years for you.”

“I went with you to Moscow. The lockout.”

“Four years ago.”

“I signed my big contract after yours.”

“That's eight.”

“Feels like yesterday,” Nicky said, because Nicky had to win every argument. That didn't mean he was wrong, though. It took them forever to get to this point. It all happened in a flash. “It was nice. You skating with me and the Cup. I knew you were gonna give it to me, hand it off to me, but not that you'd do that. It meant a lot to me, actually.” Nicky's voice had gone tight, for some reason, which wasn't at all what Alex wanted. He tucked a disgusting curl behind Nicky's ear.

Moonlight skimmed across the Cup's surface. Some of its grooves deepened with darker shadows. Others caught the light and seemed to twinkle. The air in the room felt heavy, somehow. Maybe that's why Alex asked, “Nicky? Why you think gods give Cup to Sir Stanley? You know. If not say thank you for good steak. What do you think they want?” 

Nicky's arm tightened around Alex. “I think it's, uh, looking for someone,” he said finally. “For the gods. To take back to them, maybe. Someone they want who'd be on a winning hockey team.”

That kinda made sense, at least if you started out assuming that hockey gods existed. The Cup went to the winning team each year. Every player spent a whole day with it, showing it around, taking pictures with babies and dogs and giant margaritas. Not the worst way to get to know some people.

“No one abducted yet, though,” Alex said. “Or… whatever else.” He tried very hard not to think about seductive moose. 

“Maybe no one's been worthy so far.”

“Of what? Why you think they want this person? Seems like a lot of work make Cup, send Cup to earth, if they just gonna throw this hockey player in some god volcano.”

“They could want a champion, maybe. Or a mortal … spouse. They do that. All the time, actually, in stories. Find some person. Whisk them away.” Nicky pressed his lips to Alex's chest. “You're safe, though, I think. I mean, you should be. We're talking about hockey gods, and you're hockey-taken.”

Alex boggled. “Cup, I think someone kidnap Bäcky.”

Nicky shut him up with a kiss.

**#**

“Who the fuck takes a mulligan on a ceremonial pitch?” Carly thumped Alex's back.

The Caps had brought the Cup to Nats Park for fun, for fans, for D.C. solidarity. And yeah, Alex had asked for a second try when his first pitch went too high. So what? The Caps were having their first full day with the Cup in D.C. The city was seeing its first championship in decades. Nobody could be mad about anything. Even Alex wasn't mad, and his hockey other half had fled with the Cup in the middle of the morning without so much as a text.

“It's a babe move,” Osh said. “O's a babe.”

“More of a russian machine, I think.” Nicky handed Alex a Bud Lite straight from the ice bucket, then took the seat next to him. Their hands brushed. Nicky didn't react, but that was normal. They were both acting normal. Like last night hadn't happened. Like it hadn't meant anything new for them—

—because it hadn't.

Nicky hadn't made any real declaration, hadn't promised anything. He'd stayed overnight because he was drunk. He'd joked about their hockey marriage like he didn't hate the whole idea, because … Alex didn't know why he'd done that. But jokes were jokes. They weren't serious, more or less by definition. It just kinda sucked that Nicky had brought up some things for Alex he usually kept stowed.

“Russian machine?” Whip poured beer into Burkie's hair, which was, you know how people's beds got gross. “Twenty minutes ago, O was telling reporters how he's just too strong.” 

Osh laughed. “Pretty sure being strong is the whole implication of russian machines not breaking.” 

“Hercules!” Burkie punched Whip's arm.

“Ugh. Let's hope not.” Nicky grimaced.

“What's wrong with Herc?” Whip asked. 

Carly adjusted his sunglasses. “I'm with Nicky. The songs in that movie suck, especially when my kid watches it every damn day for three months.”

“It could be worse,” Batya said. “My daughter just wants YouTube. I get home, and it's the first thing she wants. Not a kiss or a hug. My phone so she can watch YouTube.”

“Does she know her mom has a phone?” 

“She knows her mom just told her no more YouTube.”

“Kids,” Burkie said, with a knowing air. “What? I babysit.”

The crowd at Nats stadium made noise for … some reason. Alex lifted the Cup so the fans could see it shining from the Caps' suite. Which made the crowd cheer more. Which made Alex raise the Cup higher. He teetered. Warm fingers cupped his right hip. Alex didn't need to look down to know it was Nicky steadying him.

“That was in the middle of play,” Holts said, when Alex lowered the Cup. “There wasn't a stoppage or anything.”

“He's too strong to wait for those,” Carly said.

“Hercu—” Whip stopped. “Wait, why's it bad to call him Hercules again? Papa didn't say.”

Nicky fiddled with someone's stray bottle cap. “Hercules was a demigod. Part human, part god. The son of Zeus.” He glanced at Alex, only to look away again. “Zeus' wife didn't like him cheating on her with Hercules' mom, so she made Hercules go crazy and, uh, kill his whole family. Wife and six kids.”

“Wow,” Osh said, after a beat. “Brutal ending for that Disney movie.”

“Stories with gods aren't happy. Not if there are humans in them, too.” 

“Dunno,” Whip said, “I always like the one about Heather and the Canada Goose.”

Burkie leaned forward. “Nicke,” he said, his mouth a mischievous curl, “this thing with Hercules. You learn that from your grandma?”

Nicky shot him a warning look. “No. I got that from school. Some of us actually learned things there.” He squeezed Alex's knee. “I'm, uh, gonna hit the head. Don't have too much fun without me.”

“His grandma?” Carly asked, after Nicky had disappeared into the clubhouse. “That the one who told some newspaper he was playing like shit before the Olympics a few years ago?”

Burkie nodded. “Yeah, that's her. She's kinda … what's the word in English? Crackpot.”

“Lay off grandmas.” Holts spoke in a mild voice.

Burkie had the good grace to turn red, if not to back down. “She told the reporters back home that her family's descended from gods, except it skips generations. She said Nicky's missing the god gene, and that's why he doesn't play as good as he should for Sweden.”

“She thinks she's a hockey god?” Carly frowned. “You think she'd help her grandson out. We should have ten Cups by now.”

“No, not hockey, some other kind. There's lots in Sweden. I think it's more like … a love god? Something like that.”

“Nicky's grandma thinks he's a love god?” Osh almost choked on his beer.

“No, pay attention, she thinks that _skipped_ —”

Alex stood. Pieces weren't coming together, exactly, but the puzzle itself almost had a shape. Nicky worrying that the gods created the Cup for a reason. Nicky saying that bad things happened when gods mixed with humans, while also, apparently, having a grandma who thought they should've mixed more within Nicky. That whole thing last night …

Clouds parted. The Cup beamed—

“I'll, uh, be back,” Alex told his teammates. 

He went after Nicky.

**#**

“That's not possible … no, I'm telling you the augures have made a mistake … there's no way the Cup's … of course I'd know! I'm the one watching it!” A shrill note edged the Keeper's voice.

Alex knocked on the bathroom door. The suites at Nats Park had private restrooms. Alex thought he'd run into Nicky, if not there, then somewhere along the way. Instead, he'd found the bathroom light on and the door ajar, with the Keeper of the Cup sounding half-panicked inside. “Everything okay in there?” 

“Fine!” The Keeper yelped. Something clattered.

Alex pushed open the door. “Need help?”

The Keeper had dropped his phone. He struggled to recover it from the slippery tile. “No. Sorry. I mean, hi, Ovi. You hear any of that? Don't worry. If there's anything to worry about, the trustees will send everyone an email.” 

What was this about? Alex hoped the Keeper wasn't in trouble for losing the Cup yesterday. “Hey, sorry about last night. Don't know how Cup get to my house, but at least it come back safe, yeah?”

The Keeper grabbed his phone and snapped upright, only to stare at Alex. “What? The Cup was with me all night. I shampooed the beer off it.”

“Nicky didn't take the Cup to your hotel this morning?”

“I think I'd know if your teammate showed up in my hotel room. Sorry, Ovi. You'll have to excuse me. I was in the middle of a call …” The Keeper brought his phone back to his ear, then stepped around Alex and out of the restroom. “Yes, I know you heard that. No, we can't … Mount Logan! Are you kidding me? The NHLPA will shit a brick …”

Mount Logan. The home of the hockey gods. Why did the trustees need to talk to the player's association? Nicky said. Nicky said gods took people away sometimes. But, no, that was stupid. Alex wasn't going to worry about hockey gods kidnapping people when, for all he knew, Nicky had seen that the bathroom was occupied and decided to look for another one down the hall—

Something crashed outside.

“Nicky?” Alex flung open the door—

He wasn't in Nats Park. He wasn't anywhere. A black void surrounded him. The Cup stood in Alex's path, its silver plaques shining. _Hi_. It seemed to say. _I've been looking for you_.

Something inside its bowl glowed. Alex tipped forward and saw swirling gold light. It moved like liquid, sloshing against the bowl's rim.  _You're the one. The one who's worthy_. _I will take you_. 

Alex blinked. “Uh, gotta tell you, I'm not sure I want to spend eternity with the gods on Mount Logan.”

_I've been searching. I've found you. Now I take the champion to his destiny._

“Is my destiny Zeus? Someone like Zeus? Who's the Zeus of the hockey gods?”

_Gord. And we're not going to him. Trust me._

Nicky would probably yell at Alex to get the hell out of there. But Nicky wasn't in the void with Alex. And Alex did trust the Cup. He pitched forward—

He fell—

Into a bedroom. _His_ bedroom. Except it wasn't how he'd left it that morning. No curtains on the windows. Cardboard boxes piled everywhere. It looked like when Alex first moved in all the way back in 2012. When it had taken him weeks to unpack more than his bed and the Xbox downstairs.

Someone groaned. Alex whirled away from the window and faced the bed.

“Nicky.” Alex breathed.

But this Nicky was a memory. He had a rounder face and blonder hair. He was kissing a younger Alex. The sheets, unmoored from the mattress, twisted around them. Hot. They looked fucking hot. Alex was pretty sure he remembered this day. Nicky had come over to help him move. Instead, they'd taken advantage of a break in the schedule to screw on almost every available surface—not that there'd been much variety. Kitchen floor. Den floor. Guest bedroom floor.

The scene skipped forward.

Nicky had tucked himself around a sleeping Alex. He played with Alex's gold necklace, kissed the little bone behind his ear. He whispered between kisses, the words too soft to catch …

 _Whoosh_.

The room flared with light. 

Nicky raised his wrist. Gold light encircled it like a thread. That thread trailed like a loose leash, cinching itself around Alex's wrist as well. _Handfasting_. The word popped into Alex's head. _Binding_. Nicky's eyes widened almost comically in their horror. _Marriage._

“I wasn't finished,” Nicky said, very quickly and in Swedish, which Alex somehow understood. “I meant for hockey.” He held up his wrist, looking only sort of relieved as the thread grew thinner, more fragile, before disappearing into both their skins.

The bedroom fell away—

Nicky was sitting in a living room Alex hadn't seen before. White walls, pale furniture, a bright green carpet. He held a cell phone in his hands. It pinged with a text. 

' _Becky!!!))))) greenie says u not dead??? u lose your phone??? how summer??))_ '

Nicky chewed his lip. He set his phone aside …

The room swirled. 

“—can't marry him.” Nicky crossed his arms and glared at The Stanley Cup. His hair was bunched all on one side of his head, caught in crunchy curls. “You can't take him. You heard us talking. I have a prior claim …” 

The Cup twinkled. 

Alex fell and fell and—

#

“Ow.” Alex landed on hard ground. He was wet all over. Fucking soaked. 

“Careful.” Nicky helped Alex to his feet.

The fuck? Alex spun around. He was in Georgetown, at the Georgetown waterfront. A fountain burbled. What the hell had he been doing to get this wet? Where was the Cup? The Cup was magic. The Cup had brought him here. The fuck was—?

Whip lifted the Cup and carried it into the fountain. 

Alex started to dry heave.

“Whoa, okay, come on, let's get you inside …” Nicky must've realized that Alex was about to vomit in public, because he steered him away from the fountain and onto the team's empty bus. “What do you need? Water? We've got some … somewhere.” He started pawing through coolers. “I thought you could go harder than this. You must be getting old—”

“Rude, Nicky.”

“Honest, maybe. Your hair alone …” Nicky made a dumb, happy noise when he found the water bottles. He pressed a cold one into Alex's hands, then twisted another open for himself.

“Not that honest. First, you tell me no gods help us win the Cup. Then I learn one made a sick pass to my wheelhouse on the powerplay in Game 5.”

The blood left Nicky's face. He clenched his water bottle.

“Then I learn that same god  _marry me_  and not say for  _six years_.”

Nicky sank into the seat opposite Alex. 

Alex felt sick. Sicker. He didn't know what he wanted right now, but it wasn't Nicky in pain. “I saw … what happen. Cup show me.” He rubbed his raw throat. “I know you didn't mean …”

“I meant to keep it to _myself_.” Nicky's eyes flashed with something like anger. A second later, and it was gone, defeated. He scrubbed his face. “Alex, that wasn't a god on the powerplay. That was someone whose, uh, very distant ancestor listened in on them at the wrong time. And who happened to be a god of, of … vows. Private ones with couples, especially.” 

“Pretty damn private, seeing how I sleep through whole thing.”

“That just means it's not your vow.” Nicky slumped. “Look, our … magic … bond … thing … it  _is_  just for hockey. It's weird, but it's also pretty much what we'd have anyway. Nothing changed except … I had to be careful. To make sure it stayed that way. For hockey, I mean.”

Alex recalled the weird, cyclical nature of their on-again, off-again. “ _That_ why you always break up with me before the playoffs? Because hockey marriages end in springtime?”

“No. That's because it's the playoffs.”

Alex raised his eyebrows. 

Nicky caved. “I don't … I'm honestly not sure what would happen if we were together in the summer. Maybe if we play enough hockey, train together, it's fine. But I don't know. How can I know? I didn't know it could happen in the first place.” He squeezed his water bottle. The plastic crinkled. “Alex, if you saw … you know I changed it. What it meant. The god can't ever think I lied about anything.”

Alex wasn't gonna ask him if he had or not. He knew what he'd seen on his magical journey with the Stanley Cup. Nicky's fervent whispering. Nicky's horror and hasty amendment. 

“I wasn't ready for even you to, to _know_ …”

And to think, just that morning, Alex had been hurt by Nicky leaving him alone in bed. Now, he knew. At one point, at least, Nicky had wanted more with Alex. He'd wanted _more_  so much a god heard what should've been a private promise and married him off on the spot.

“I could  _kill_  that Cup. I wanted to win it so bad, and now this shit.” Nicky gusted a near-violent breath. 

Alex laughed. He couldn't help it. 

Nicky glared at him. “You know it's here to take someone to the gods, right?”

“Yeah. I figure that out when it take me to you.”

Nicky paled again. 

Alex looked out the window and saw—their team. His and Nicky's. Holts was dancing in a red baseball hat. Burkie was riding Batya piggyback. Conno and Whip were splashing in the fountain. The Keeper was milling around, looking bewildered but not displeased. And the fans. The fans were there. Laughing, cheering, taking videos. Burkie raised the Cup for them, sharing the victory, and something in Alex's chest knocked loose. The Caps had won. They'd fucking won. Nobody was going to live with hockey gods on Mount Logan. Because they'd done it. Him and Nicky.  _They'd fucking won_. 

“Me and you, babe.” Alex took Nicky's hand and urged him upright. “Nicky, today's a good day. We're champions. Everybody happy, everybody celebrate. Nobody can be mad, sad about anything. It's all good today, yeah?” 

“Me and you.” Nicky touched Alex's jaw with his free hand, his fingers cold from the water bottle. “You know.” He stopped, swallowed. “Tomorrow might be good, too. If you, if you think about it.”  

“I know it's gonna be.” Alex stroked Nicky's wrist, tracing his fingers where there'd once been a golden circlet. “I know, because tomorrow you're making me breakfast.”

###

 

**Author's Note:**

> The warnings: This story contains 2018 Caps Cup celebrations, and therefore public drunkenness. Our heroes have sex with each other while drunk, and neither they nor the story takes issue with that. While I drew from the 72-hour bender heard around the world, I didn't stick to real life events/timelines/quotations with any fastidiousness. Artistic license, etc. Ditto on how the Cup travels and is cared for in real life.
> 
> A huge thank you to Thorne for her patience, good advice and encouragement. 
> 
> Also, random things: Volcano Mountain is an actual volcano. Based on eruption timelines, the Lava Fork volcano is a better candidate for divine Stanley Cup-forging, but I really liked the name "Volcano Mountain." Mount Logan is the tallest mountain in Canada.
> 
> A very light touch to the worldbuilding on this one, but I think, even when people outside of Canada believe in the hockey gods, they don't necessarily believe in the _same_ hockey gods as the trustees. Also, gods didn't sprout up out of nowhere when hockey was invented. I think some gods switched over from other designations. Also, just like the real world, the same archetypal stories show up across different cultures. The Canadian hockey god version of Leda and the Swan 100% represents a loving and consensual relationship. 
> 
> Nicky is descended from Vár, the Norse goddess of oaths and vows, specifically marriage vows. 
> 
> I am weaglerock on tumblr.


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